


If Only You Knew What I Could Do

by Loverboy (MythicObsessions)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Pining, Voyeurism, maybe? - Freeform, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicObsessions/pseuds/Loverboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick loved singing.  Loved shredding his voice on stage, loved the way the music flowed through him, like he was leading a charge. Captain of hearing-loss and his crew of mighty composers.<br/>He loved the feeling of his own music shaking his bones and very being. It gave him courage he didn’t have when a crowd sang back at him. Made him feel like he could rule the world if he just tried.<br/>(Or Patrick dreams of Pete and him, Pete gets turned on by Patrick's bed room voice and sex happens)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only You Knew What I Could Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letssendacountrysomecupcakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letssendacountrysomecupcakes/gifts), [and all of the kiddos of my kik group](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+all+of+the+kiddos+of+my+kik+group).



> Thanks to all my Kik babies. I owe them this because it's really all their fault I could even finish this.  
> And SMUT  
> You got it kiddos <3

“Ah!” Patrick stutters, “Oh god, oh, oh yes, please.”  
“Wait, can you-” Pete’s hands on his hips and then “oh my god.” He hears Pete moan behind. “Okay yeah.” Patrick almost laughs but, yeah…  
“Holy fuck.” Patrick clenches the pillow under his head in a death grip as Pete thrusts home. “Oh god, yeah.”  


Patrick woke with a start, jolting up in his bed and slamming his forehead into the top of his bunk.

“Oww.” He whined and rubbed his face, trying to forget what the fuck he’d just been dreaming.  
Yeah that was pretty weird and he belatedly reason his thighs stuck together  

“Fuck.” He mumbled  “Why me?”

Why _Pete_ too?

He kicked his off pants, sighing as they stick, and struggles to put a pair of black skinny jeans.

Hopping out of the bunk, he shook his head, and the dream off.

 

The bus shook under his feet as he walked from the bunks to the kitchenette like a threat impending doom, tipping at the edges of possibility.  Tipping a bit from the movement and only saving himself with a hand before his head could hit the island.

Maybe, He thought, the world should be ending right now.

In a world where he had wet dreams of his best friend, something should be horribly wrong. Maybe a star falling, or going supernova. Hell, maybe a nuke.

Patrick clinged to the counter as the bus hit another bump in the road, and reached out for the insta-coffee bags they had tucked away. He just needed caffeine was all. Caffeine would fix everything.

    As he sat on the small couch in the main area, drinking his coffee, he reasoned that maybe nothing could fix this.

Maybe something was just fundamentally wrong with him. Insanity didn’t come overnight, but then again, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed it until this happened.

Until he came in his sleep from a dream of his best friend fucking him.

    Pete stumbled in an hour or so later, Patrick holding his empty mug tightly in hands and staring off to nowhere in particular, and tripped right where Patrick had as the bus hit yet another one of those endless bumps in the road.  
Patrick had a moment then, as he saw Pete catch himself. A feeling like being in a cage with the lion. The monster.  Except Patrick wasn’t the helpless victim but the creature. He wanted so many things, as he watched Pete go through the same impossible task of pouring hot water into a cup in a moving vehicle. He wanted to kiss, and be kissed, wanted to hold and be held, fuck and be fucked. He wanted things he’d never even dreamed of until this morning, never even let the thoughts dance through his mind when the interviewers asked about their relationship. When Pete clung to him, kissed his neck during a show.

And he shook his head again, let the thoughts slid away as his best friend, his bandmate, settled beside him on the couch. Their knees brushed together but neither looked at each other, just off into nowhere.

 An unspoken agreement was set then, hot and fast, into their relationship.

 

Patrick didn’t mind the avoidance. Not at all. He liked to have an excuse to look away right as Pete’s eyes met his. And he never was sociable so it wasn’t all that different when Andy or Joe asked if he wanted to go out with them and he said no. It wasn’t all that different at all.

Except it was. Patrick would see Pete bend down and watch his shirt slide up that inch to show bare skin, would want to reach out and touch but instead he’d leave.  
Pete stopped being so bouncy on stage. Well, not really, but he ignored Patrick now. Didn’t move up behind him and set his forehead on Patrick’s back, didn’t whisper encouragement into his ear.

Patrick knew he wasn’t the best at hiding his thoughts, his temper or how alone he felt when he didn’t feel Pete’s arms around his neck or his voice in his ear. He couldn’t admit it, not any of it.

The way he felt, or thought he felt.

And it kept happening, night after night like some horrible nightmare. A nightmare that left him hard and needing in the morning, or soaked through and more tired than he had gone to sleep as.

And he wanted more. Wanted to feel real skin under his hands, not some image of it that his mind created. He wanted Pete to pull him down, to fuck him, make him sore and finally, finally satisfied.

“You two are being weird.” Joe said, loud in the silent bus. “Are you fighting?”

“No.” Patrick replied, resigned and tired from the show before. “We’re fine.”  
Pete had already turned in, thank god.

“You guys don’t really seem fine, Patrick.” Andy added helpfully. “If something’s wrong, you need to talk about it. Don’t just let Pete stew. You know how big fights effect the whole band.”  
Patrick nodded but otherwise remained silent.

He felt broken without Pete close.

And he hated to admit he was touch-starved.

That night he had stumbled to his bunk, and stared at the empty unmade pocket. He sighed loudly and turned to Pete’s, tugging off his jeans, leaving on his boxers and shirt, he crawled into Pete’s bunk and almost moaned when he felt Pete’s arms curl around his chest and pull him closer.

“Missed you.” Pete mumbled into Patrick’s neck, but Patrick knew better then to answer. Pete wasn’t really awake.

 

Patrick woke calm, eyes slowly opening, a smile slipping onto his features. He felt Pete’s arms around him, felt his breath against his neck and his heartbeat through his shirt.

“Mornin’” He mumbled, shifting back into Pete and freezing.

“Mornin’” Pete mumbled back, pressing his chest closer to Patrick and, Patrick belatedly freaked out right there, hard on his against his back.

Patrick wanted to wiggle, push back against him, instead his stayed very, very still.

“Oh.. ‘s sorry.” Pete mumbled again, spitting out a mouthful of Patrick’s hair and letting him go. “Happens, you know.”  
“Yeah…” Patrick replied, too loud and shifted out of the bunk. “Coffee?”  
He wasn’t thinking now, just his mother’s politeness speaking.

Morning wood _did_ happen. And it wasn’t like it was the first time he woke up to Pete’s dick pressed against him.  
It happened sometimes, and it was almost always this awkward. Nothing had changed, not really. Not physically at least.

It was all in his head when he connected it to his presence. Pete was a sexual being, and, in his own words, couldn’t help it when he popped a boner.

Patrick used to cringe and smack at Pete when he did, on stage at least. When Pete came up behind him and shifted until his hard dick was pressed against the back of Patrick’s thigh. It wasn’t new but it felt new.

And thrilling.

 

Patrick loved singing.  Loved shredding his voice on stage, loved the way the music flowed through him, like he was leading a charge. Captain of hearing-loss and his crew of mighty composers.

He loved the feeling of his own music shaking his bones and very being. It gave him courage he didn’t have when a crowd sang back at him. Made him feel like he could rule the world if he just tried.

He couldn’t, obviously, but it made him feel like he could. Like there was nothing he couldn’t do. So he played up the audience like the guitar strapped around his shoulders.

Between songs, he’d smile and talk like he would any other time but with an undertone like sex.

Pete wasn’t active during the show, which made Patrick a little mad. He was working so hard to make it good for these people and all they really wanted was Pete Wentz to be dancing and bouncing across the stage.

And maybe it wasn’t just the people who would have liked wet kisses against his neck or whispered words in his ear.

It wasn’t fair, he knew, to be mad at Pete for not fulfilling his unspoken desires, but he was. Pissed. Fuming.

And it didn’t help when Pete left the stage as soon as they were finished, almost throwing his bass at a poor stage hand and disappearing out a door.

Patrick held back long enough to down two bottles of water and make sure everything was in line.

Then he was sliding out of the same door Pete had left through and walking back to the bus.

When he opened the door, the bus was still dark, lights having not been turned on but he could feel Pete there in the dark.

Years of being with Pete had taught him the strangest things. Ways of knowing when Pete needed time or when he needed to be told off or reassured. Ways of knowing where he was and how he was.

Patrick could sense that Pete was there in a way he couldn’t explain, like maybe the air Pete breathed was somehow different than clean unused air.

And he could hear him, he realized, as he pulled himself into the bus. Panting breaths.

He followed it, the sounds. Familiar in their own way. Familiar in that secret sense they all knew.

A secret sound, panting and heavy, and the smell, arousal and musk of unclean boy.

Patrick wanted to stop or move closer, get a look or hide his eyes. He stood stock still, and he could have turned, ran away and pretended he didn’t hear it.

But he did.

Muffled moans, like Pete had his face pressed into a pillow like they all did at some point on these types of tours, long and stressful.

Wet skin against more skin.  

Patrick threw a hand over his mouth, knowing he’d make a sound if he didn’t. And he wanted it so much. Wanted to crawl into Pete’s bunk and fit his mouth over him.

But he didn’t and he couldn’t. The high from the show came crashing down over him as he listened.

Listened to his best friend get off and wished it were his hands doing it. Or his mouth.

He wanted his name on Pete’s tongue. A chant or a prayer.

And he got what he wanted.

“Fuck, Patrick.” He heard, a long drawn out moan and then a stutter and he knew, without a doubt, Pete had finished.  
And he was pissed.

How fucking _dare_ he. Pete didn’t have that right.

He stumbled back, fell back onto the couch and waited. Waited for a chance to sink his metaphorical teeth into Pete, and maybe in a more literal sense.

And he _wanted._ Hard and desperate, but not willing to touch or get off to his best friend coming with shouting his name. His jeans were tight and felt foreign on his skin, he wanted them off, for fuck’s sack.

But he didn’t move, not until Pete came out of the bunk area and flipped on a light, and wow, and that’d be creepy, Patrick realized. Turning on a light to see your lead singer sitting in the dark.

“Hi?” Pete glanced at Patrick before looking down at his feet. “What’re you doing? Did the guys pack up already?”  
“They’re doing it now.” Patrick replied stiffly. “What the fuck was that about?”  
“What?” Patrick could hear the note of defense in Pete’s tone. “What was what about?”  
“During the show.” Patrick ground out. “What the fuck?”  
“What did I do now, Patrick?” Pete growled his name and he knew this was it.  A feeling like a rubber band breaking against his skin.  
“Fucking everything.” Patrick pushed up off the couch. “Like you always do.”  
“What?!” Pete shouted. “What does that even mean!?”  
“You tell me, Pete!” Patrick shouted back. “What the fuck is wrong with us?”  
“I don’t know what you even mean!” Pete whined and leaned against the wall. “I don’t understand why you won’t even look at me anymore.”  
“What?” Patrick said, taken aback. “What the fuck, I look at you!”  
“No, you don’t.” Pete sounded small, like the fight was gone in him. “You don’t anymore. Not unless you have to and I don’t know what I did!”  
“You didn’t- I don’t- Pete, what the fuck.”

“I get it. I’m not what you want or need. I’m not really necessary. I get it.” Pete said, all sad-toned and hollow. “I just wish you could talk to me again.”  
“I talk to you plenty!” Patrick felt wrong saying. The lie obvious in the shake of his voice. “Nothing’s different!”  
“Everything’s different!” Pete snapped. “I fucking wish you could see it. Everything changed. I wish you could talk to me like you talked to them!”  
“What-”  
“And I know you don’t want me.” Pete continued, right over Patrick. “I know that but we have to talk about it! Or less it will ruin this fucking band and all of our fucking dreams!”  
“Pete.”  
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But I love you, okay?! I fucking love you.”  
“Pete.”  
“Don’t shoot me down yet. I need you to know this. I love you in a way that I shouldn’t. I actually love-”  
Patrick stepped forward into Pete’s space and then, without having made the decision, closed the space completely. His mouth pressed against Pete’s.

Pete slumped back and opened up like a flower bud to the light. Patrick felt, with an undertone of awe and confusion, a tongue against his. Gentle and pressing but also demanding.

Patrick felt Pete’s hand land unsurely to his waist, felt himself pulled in and held against a firm body and he stuttered, feeling his breath leave him in something suspiciously like a moan.

Patrick pulled out of the kiss.

“Yeah?” He murmured, tired and dry at the end like a question.

“Yeah.” Pete replied. “Yeah. Please?”

Patrick nodded and fell back into the kiss, mouth open and wanting.

Pete’s knee shifted and pressed against Patrick’s already hard cock, a silent question. Patrick moaned and pressed against Pete like he couldn’t help himself.

And he couldn’t. He leaned forward and ground down against Pete’s pressure, his taste and his smell invading Patrick’s senses.

Patrick pulled away from the kiss, pressing his mouth against Pete’s shoulder as he felt his orgasm building.

He had been so close, just from listening to Pete get off. Had almost come just from his name on Pete’s air.

And he was a teenager again. Hormones raging in him like a war being waged, and a sound ripped from his throat like Pete’s name, and he was coming. Hot and sticky in his own jeans like he couldn’t have waited to take them off.

“Fuck.” He heard Pete swore, felt a hand on the back of his neck, and Pete’s own panting breaths through his chest. “Fucking- fuck.”  
“Yeah.” Patrick mumbled, numb with his high. “I know.”

 

The door clicked open and they could hear voicing out in the cool air. Patrick was too tired to tense up but he mentally did. Fucking caught. He shifted, Pete’s leg falling from it’s place between his legs, and, ugh, that was seriously gross. His thighs chafed and stuck uncomfortably and he could feel, only a little bit, Pete’s own dick against his thigh. Heavy and hard again.

Patrick licked his lips, his tongue brushing Pete’s neck, before pulling back and shifting his weight to press against Pete’s dick.

“Yeah, I fucking know!” Patrick heard Joe say, laughing, probably replying to something Andy or a tech had said.

“Did you hear Patrick though?” Andy asked, and Patrick froze, his leg pressed against Pete and Pete’s moan in his ears.

“Like he was trying to seduce the whole fucking venue.” Joe agreed. “It was kind of amazing.”  
“It was.” Pete’s lips against his neck. “Made me so hard. Couldn’t move.”  
Patrick blushed and wow, that was really late.

“Hey-” Joe’s voice cut off and, shit. Patrick and Pete hadn’t moved from their kind of obvious position.  “I fucking knew it!”  
“What?” Andy’s voice and Patrick shut his eyes against the burn on his cheeks. “Holy shit.”  
“Uh hi?” Pete replied, apparently unfazed. “Kind of busy here guys.”  
Patrick turned his head to glance at the guys.

Joe stood with a hand on his hip and another pointing straight at Pete and Patrick, and Andy looked a little confused and a lot grossed out behind him.  
“Busy.” Joe scoffed. “I fucking bet.”  
Then he turned and promptly fell into the couch.  Patrick sighed internally. He had kind of wanted to be fucked.

Pete’s hand tugged on his.

“Come on.” He whispered into Patrick’s ear and Patrick watched as Andy settled with his phone next to Joe. “Bunk.”  
Patrick nodded slightly, not really hearing until Pete starting pulling him again, away from the wall and past the slide door that lead to the bunks.

“So yeah.” Pete called behind him to Joe and Andy. “Me and Patrick have some talking to do. We’ll be back here, with the beds and lube. If you bother us, it is not our fault for whatever you see.”  
Patrick stuttered but followed Pete.

“Fuck, where were we?” Pete mumbled, pressing Patrick into his bunk, “Oh yeah.”  
He crawled up over Patrick and kissed him, deep and demanding. His tongue exploring Patrick’s mouth without hesitation. Like he had been thinking about it. The thought alone made Patrick moan again, loud and pitched.

“Fuck.” Pete cursed, and Patrick could feel him, hard and needy against his own dick. And yeah, he wanted this. Wanted it a lot.

He tucked at Pete’s shirt, wondering why the fuck he still had it on, tugging it up until Pete was forced to let go off Patrick tongue to let it be pulled over his head.

He almost keened when he touched Pete’s chest, slightly paler, but not by much, then the rest of him.

“Fuck-” Patrick mumbled, hands flying to Pete’s belt. “Fuck, I need you to-”  
“What?” Pete purred, “Need me to what?”  
“Fuck me.” Patrick moaned, arching up against Pete, pressing a palm to Pete’s hard on. “Come on, off.”  
He tugged at Pete’s pants. “Please?”  
“Oh fuck yeah.” Pete groaned and hopped out of the bunk, leaving Patrick confused and alone, and so, so desperate.

“Pete?”  
“Shh, baby.” Pete whispered, getting back in the bunk and, fuck, he was naked. Patrick should be naked too. “I’m here.”

Patrick tugged his shirt over his head, blushing bright red when he saw Pete look him over, and he unbuttoned and tugged at his jeans fruitlessly.

“A little help here?” He mumbled.

And Pete was on him, a hand wrapped tightly around his hip and another tucked into his jeans, pulling them down and off and fuck, yeah that was nice. Patrick wriggled his hips and watched as Pete looked him up and down slow and full of intent.

Patrick patted at Pete’s hand curled around his hip.

“Come on.” Patrick whined. “On with the fucking.”  
“Yeah.” And Pete pushed at Patrick’s legs, graceless when he was impatient.  
Patrick huffed and pressed his lower back down, presenting himself in a way he’d never really done before.

He sighed happily when he felt Pete’s lips against his knee, and then a finger brushing over his entrance like a promise of pressure and, Patrick moaned as the cold finger was tucked inside.

He pressed back though, despite the burn, because he knew what comes next.

“Wow.” He could hear Pete, but he didn’t care, he really couldn’t care anymore.

He was on another planet.  

  He counted, somewhere in his mind, the seconds it took. One finger, two, and three. Ten seconds each finger like Pete was thinking about this too, counting down how long it took for Patrick to push back. And he did. Pushed back, begged for more. He whined as he felt them disappearing, achingly empty and it was wrong. Patrick despised the feeling and then there was something.

Blunt heat, and pressure. And Pete moved to hover over him and everything was okay.

“Ready?” Pete asked, and yeah, Patrick was. He was so ready.  
He nodded but Pete shook his head. “I need to hear it.”  
“I-” Patrick thought, stuttered out. “I want it. I _need_ it. Pete, fuck me.”  
“Oh fuck, okay…” Pete mumbled, and oh fuck, oh god, he was pressing in and Patrick turned his head into the pillow and moaned.

Moaned like they all have done on tours so long and stressful but so deliciously different. So good and satisfying in a way jerking off never was.

“Fucking-” Pete ground out and Patrick felt his lips on his neck.

And it was so slow. The push. Pete sliding home slickly and perfectly. Made for it, Patrick wondered. Made for Patrick.

He wasn’t going to kid himself, no, it hurt. But it hurt so good and it was Pete. _Pete!_  

And suddenly there wasn’t any more movement, and Patrick could feel Pete so deep and he felt so full and he reasoned, with almost shock but mostly not, that he was bottomed out.

Patrick moaned again, loud and almost whiny.

He pried his eyes open and looked up at Pete, and he was so beautiful, sweat shiny but so amazing. The best thing Patrick had ever seen.

“You good?” Pete asked, strained.  
“Yeah-” Patrick managed, blinking his eyes and smiling up at Pete. “Yeah, I’m good. Move?”  
Pete nodded absently and Patrick moaned loudly, too loudly, as Pete pulled a tiny bit and then pushed back against him.

It wasn’t enough but it was already too much.

Patrick tilted his hips back and pressed against Pete’s dick, and oh, now they were going.

And Patrick took a moment, a breath, to think, _holy shit_ this was happening. This was real.

And it was so good.

Pete mouthed words into Patrick’s neck as he thrusted home, once and twice, Patrick turned his face into Pete’s hair and moaned loudly.

“You’re so good.” Pete murmured, thrusting fast and rough, and God, Patrick wanted this forever. “So good.”

Patrick had forgotten, for a moment, about his aching dick, but he remembered it so fast when a hand wrapped around it, stroking fast and in time with Pete’s thrusts.

This wasn’t going to last, Patrick knew, his head thrown back and a moan ripped from his throat and he was coming, all over Pete’s hand and stomach and his own chest.

“Oh fuck!” Pete groaned and he was following Patrick right over the edge, coming hot and hard inside Patrick.

Patrick moaned at the feeling of Pete spilling into him and panted in deep breaths.  
For a second, a minute, long, earth shattering breathes, everything was amazing, the high holding them off the planet for just a moment, together and without a worry in the world.

And then Pete pulled out and Patrick felt that horrible, horrible emptiness and hissed out a breath.

“Ow, motherfucker.” Patrick whined.

“Well, it was sooner or later.” Pete pointed out. “You okay?”

Patrick smiled and leaned up to kiss Pete, soft and sweet and nothing like they had before.

“I’m okay.” He said against Pete’s lips. “I’m great.”

  
  


**\- THE END -**

**OR IS IT?**

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, share, show you care.  
> Love you, my little obsessions <3


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